


Signed, Sealed, Undelivered (I’m Still Yours)

by nh8343



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, discussion of possible suicide, journals and other mementos, revisiting old memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:15:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23261575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nh8343/pseuds/nh8343
Summary: Hongjoong is at the center of a missing person case. Seonghwa may be the only one with a chance of bringing him home.Everything that went unsaid between the two of them is louder in the silence Hongjoong left behind.
Relationships: Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 3
Kudos: 58





	Signed, Sealed, Undelivered (I’m Still Yours)

**Author's Note:**

> Happy late birthday to me and early birthday to best boy Jeong Yunho. Enjoy!

“You know I could get in serious trouble for this, right?” Yunho asks.

Coming from someone else, it might have sounded like a reprimand. Instead it sounds more like an attempt to fill the silence of the empty apartment that had fallen over them since sealing themselves inside. That doesn’t stop Seonghwa from bristling at the words.

“I heard you the first time, which was five minutes ago,” he snaps, and instantly regrets it when Yunho’s expression shutters.

This is still Yunho’s case. Even if he’d asked Seonghwa for help when he’d hit a dead end, Seonghwa had been the one to push beyond what protocol allowed, to insist on coming here in person. Helping out the investigation is a favor that goes both ways.

“Sorry,” Seonghwa apologizes, all bite gone from his words. “It’s not you who has me on edge. Even if I was never here, knowing he was…”

“I understand.” The words veer too close to pity for Seonghwa’s liking, but he doesn’t protest. “I knew him, but you two were much closer. That’s why I called you, after all. So if it gets to be too much…”

The implication is clear enough without Yunho having to spell it out. Seonghwa shoots him a grateful look before venturing further into the apartment.

In true Hongjoong fashion, the sitting area and kitchen are in a state of what the other man had commonly referred to as “creative expression”. That is to say, an assortment of clutter and half-finished projects are strewn across every available surface. Glass jars of pens and pencils are delicately balanced on top of books. Post-it notes line the walls next to torn scratch paper stuck on with curling strips of blue tape.

It’s such a familiar sight in such a foreign place that Seonghwa nearly feels like he’s seeing things. A phantom pain tugs at his gut before he turns away from the mess and back to Yunho. “How much have you looked at so far?”

“It’s a small apartment, so I’ve given everything an initial sweep. But I haven’t come back for a closer look since I talked to you.” His expression sours. “Just getting paperwork for access to the place took forever. Apparently, they don’t have a lot of time to waste on cold cases and junior officers.”

“Hey, we’ll find something,” Seonghwa reassures him. “That’s why you brought me along.”

“I brought you along because you were relentless about coming, but I still appreciate the thought.”

Though Yunho smiles when he says it, the reminder does bring Seonghwa back down to earth. He may have a personal stake in this case, but it’s still a case. He needs to focus on the facts if he wants any chance of breaking through the wall Yunho has run into.

Kim Hongjoong, age twenty-four. One of his coworkers had called the police to report him missing, but for the past four weeks it’s like he’s disappeared without a trace. Once, he’d been Seonghwa’s best friend. And maybe it’s presumptuous, but if anyone could find even the faintest hint of what happened to Kim Hongjoong? Seonghwa thinks it could be him.

“We’ll start with his room,” Yunho continues. “If there’s any clues, that’s my first guess at where they’ll be. I checked myself last week, but…”

“Understood.”

Seonghwa crosses the war field of quote-unquote creative clutter and places one hand on the only remaining closed door. He takes a deep breath. And he steps inside.

It takes but a moment for Seonghwa’s eyes to absorb the scene in front of him. It takes just as long for all the air in his lungs to leave him in a single harsh breath, like he’s been punched in the gut. The rest of the apartment had reflected Hongjoong’s spirit without question, but it’s one thing to have a feeling of familiarity. It’s another thing altogether to see a room set up in near identical fashion to the one Seonghwa had known for years. Surface-level changes and a few shifted pieces of furniture aside, he knows he could navigate around the space with his eyes shut and both hands tied behind his back.

“You okay?” Yunho asks, gentle enough that he’s clearly seen the pain bearing down on Seonghwa’s shoulders.

“Fine. I just need a second.”

The other man doesn’t push. He waits patiently for Seonghwa to step fully past the threshold and remains silent as Seonghwa’s feet carry him in a half-dazed ring around the room.

Looking around is like looking at a photograph, a frozen moment plucked out of its timeline to preserve the fine details of here and now. Notebooks and loose leaf papers are filed in every nook and cranny with a color-coded system Seonghwa could never fully wrap his head around, art supplies stowed away in open cubes by vague association (“moods,” Hongjoong had once explained to him). The bed in the corner is more of an outfit-prepping station than a place to sleep; really, the only open working surface is the desk on the opposite wall, a single lamp craning its neck over the empty tabletop.

What had Hongjoong last been working on, Seonghwa wonders? What was his next big project? Did he ever think about how different his life could be?

Absently, Seonghwa runs his finger across the titles on one bookshelf, losing himself for a moment to memories. There are a handful of books here that he knows were always Hongjoong’s favorites, along with a few more. He’s sure that one spiral notebook holds the results of an unsuccessful (but humorous) month where Hongjoong insisted on drawing nothing but new ideas for water Pokémon. And tucked away behind the notebooks on the second shelf, that almost looks like…

“Did you find something?” Yunho prompts.

“Maybe.” Seonghwa fishes out the canvas-bound book to get a good look at it, and sure enough, finds his hunch to be correct. “This was one of Hongjoong’s journals,” he says with something like amazement. “I thought I recognized it. Hongjoong always said he wrote small so it would last him for years, because he liked it too much to get another one.”

And not once had Seonghwa opened it to see the pages within. He’d been a good enough person and friend not to break that trust. His fingers hesitate on the cover’s edge at the thought of taking a step over that line. But if intruding on Hongjoong’s privacy will help pull him out of whatever trouble he might have gotten himself into, or at least answer the question of what happened to him…

“Here goes nothing,” Seonghwa murmurs, and he opens the journal.

  
  


_2011.10.17_

_Something strange happened today. Strange enough that I feel like I should write it down, in case I ever need to come back and see how much of a monumental idiot I’ve been._

_Like, okay, after this many years of public school, I’ve gotten used to being surrounded by assholes who think I’m not worth their time because my parents don’t go to the country club every weekend. I barely hear it anymore when they mock my DIY outfits and my shitty poor-kid lunch._

_And of all people, there’s no reason I should’ve expected otherwise from mister untouchable “my parents are both rich lawyers” Park Seonghwa. He should be just another spoiled, elite brat who coasts on family money. But he’s...kind? He compliments my sketches and talks to me like I’m not an ant for him to step on?_

_I’m not stupid. At first, I thought it was some elaborate prank the others were trying to pull. Except now it’s been two weeks and I have no reason to think he’s being anything but genuine. And, I have to admit...it’s nice. Nice to not dread every part of my day, nice to have someone I can almost be myself around. I wonder if I can call us friends?_

  
  


Seonghwa stares at the page for a long moment after the entry is finished. Intentional or not, he’s still here among Hongjoong’s saved possessions. Their memories together are still tied to this not-quite-right version of the room they’d talked for hours in.

“This is about when we first met,” Seonghwa tells Yunho without looking up from the page.

“In college, you mean?”

“No, back in junior year of high school. Hongjoong was much more prickly back then, but there was something about him that fascinated me. I _had_ to get to know him.” A self-deprecating smile finds its way to his face. “Guess I just didn’t pick up on his hints to leave him alone, and he eventually warmed up to me. High school me was subpar at picking up on social cues. And stubborn.”

“So, not much different than now?” Yunho prods him, and Seonghwa does finally look up to half-heartedly glare at the grin he sees shining back at him.

“Somehow even worse. Be lucky you met me later, wiseass.”

“And your parents? They were…?”

“Definitely not,” Seonghwa answers with a harsh laugh. “My dear mother and father thought he was ‘unsuitable’ for me to be friends with, surprising no one.”

They’d made it painfully obvious, too. Hongjoong couldn't be brought up once in conversation without several snide comments being made about the person he was or the family he came from. Somehow being a victim of circumstance had been conflated with not deserving to be treated as a human being.

Seonghwa had learned much more than both of them about Hongjoong’s absentee father, his mother who’d all but left him for dead, and his ailing aunt who’d raised him the best she could despite having hardly a dollar to her name. Yet when he looked at Hongjoong, he’d never seen the circumstances. He’d have to be blind not to see the incredible person forged in spite of the unlucky hand the world had dealt him.

But as tempting as it is, reminiscing isn’t going to reveal any helpful clues. Seonghwa shakes his head to physically sort out his thoughts, thumbing through journal pages without reading anything beyond the dates. Surely, he would have noticed if something was off before...before everything. He needs to skip into more recent history to find anything of note.

A few thumbed pages in, however, the journal stops on one entry in particular. There are three photographs tucked between the pages, the topmost of which Seonghwa just barely saves from sliding off the stack into a dusty oblivion.

“There’s pictures in there, too?” Yunho asks him.

“I guess so.” Seonghwa feels something catch in his throat and quickly swallows it down. “This probably isn’t important, but...give me a minute. If that’s okay.”

“Take your time.”

The first photograph is of Hongjoong alone. He’s standing with his arms and legs spread in an excited cheer, smiling so wide that his eyes nearly disappear. Seonghwa recognizes it immediately, both because of the familiar cabin in the background and because he remembers the precise moment he took it. His eyes drift to the accompanying page.

  
  


_2013.06.02_

_It’s really happening! Seonghwa and I talked about it so much that I thought it would just stay that way forever: an idea in our heads that we had a good laugh about without ever actually acting on it. But here we are in the cabin Seonghwa convinced his parents to rent out for the weekend (no idea how that worked out, but I can’t complain...even if I don’t like that I couldn’t chip in)._

_We’re far enough into the mountains that it feels like we’re the only ones here, but not so far that we’re completely cut off from civilization if something goes wrong. It’s wonderful._

_Today we went fishing in the river, which was fun even if we didn’t manage to catch a single stupid fish. We went hiking, too, but we swore each other to secrecy about what happened when we tried to have a picnic at the end of the hike. Let’s just say that there are places someone should never have to find ants._

  
  


Seonghwa almost doesn’t realize he’s smiling, fond memories hitting him in waves. That cabin had been more than just a summer trip after high school graduation. It had been a way to cement their friendship outside of the usual binds of school and the short breaks in between. If he closes his eyes, he can still feel the sun beating down on his face as he sat by the riverbank failing to reel in yet another catch, can picture the smell of half-burned beef as they lounged in the comfort of the indoors once the sun sank low enough in the sky.

Seonghwa’s smile wavers but still doesn’t drop as he takes a look at the next photograph: a shaky selfie made grainy by the low light of the campfire illuminating its subjects. Hongjoong and Seonghwa both have a flaming marshmallow perched on the end of their respective skewers, mouths open in a silent roar like they’re some kind of fire-breathing demons instead of two high school graduates hamming it up for the camera.

  
  


_We’ve already talked about coming back here next summer. I’m so glad we met. If I wasn’t convinced before, now I’m sure of it more than ever: Seonghwa is a good person. He can be trusted. I’ve told him more things than I’ve ever told anyone else._

_There’s one thing I never will, one secret he can never know, but I hope the universe or whatever absentee god is out there can forgive me for not being entirely honest. It’s for the best this way. For everyone._

_Anyway, there’s a few more hours left in the day before we go to sleep and have to pack up tomorrow morning. I think I’m going to ask Seonghwa if I can paint his nails. I don’t think he’d mind, would he? No. Let’s see how far he’ll let me go before he starts complaining. This is for serious practice, I swear!_

  
  


The last photograph is evidence that Hongjoong was true to his word. A rather flustered-looking Seonghwa is smiling at the camera to show off a canvas of neon eyeshadow and glitter streaked purposefully across his face. Only one hand is in frame, but it clearly received the same manner of treatment. The memory itself should make Seonghwa laugh.

And yet. A secret. A secret Hongjoong couldn’t tell Seonghwa. It _bothers_ him. Not in the sense that he thinks Hongjoong was obligated to tell him everything, but the fact that not being able to share it seemed to weigh on him. Seonghwa tucks the photographs back into their rightful place, flips the page, and tries to put the words out of his mind.

“I’m getting closer, if there’s something here,” Seonghwa tells Yunho, who’s been hovering by the framed paintings on one wall. “I’m up to when we started college.”

Yunho nods before turning back to give Seonghwa some semblance of privacy. It doesn’t go unappreciated. Seonghwa’s eyes skim a few short entries Hongjoong wrote about being nervous for move-in, only admittedly pausing when he sees his own name written in that familiar scrawl.

  
  


_2013.08.22_

_Well, we’ve done it. Moved in, started classes, and are finally acknowledged as real adults. Some of the other guys in our building? I don’t think that last one is necessarily accurate. But it’s good having Seonghwa here as at least one familiar thing in this sea of unfamiliar everything._

_He agreed to let me use half his closet, and I agreed to make sure he doesn’t sleep through his early-morning alarm. We’ll see how well that goes, since when I’m out I’m_ out _, but surprise! College is doing a great job of reminding me that I, in fact, am really good at not sleeping. I can almost hear Seonghwa in my head right now chewing me out…_

  
  


In Seonghwa’s own head, certainly, he’s chiding Hongjoong for making light of the issue Seonghwa had been adamant about not overlooking. He remembers their arrangement well ━ including how he’d had to go out in Hongjoong’s ensembles the few times he ran short on time to do laundry ━ but he wasn’t aware that it had come from a place of utilizing Hongjoong’s chronic insomnia. Had he known, he wouldn’t have agreed to that end of the bargain. Even if it had worked.

  
  


_Classes are hard. Seonghwa and I don’t have any together with our majors being so different, but it’s still a relief being able to complain to each other. Seonghwa tells me he’s enjoying not having his parents breathing down his neck about their expectations and how much they can’t stand me._

_I think I’d almost rather have that instead of my parents, though. Auntie’s been telling me things ━ I wish she wouldn’t, but I understand why she does. She wants the best for me. But I just...I don’t know. This feels like something not to talk about with anyone else. I hate feeling like my whole life is made up of nothing more than secrets. _

_Seonghwa’s back. I’ll continue later._

  
  


A sour feeling sits uncomfortably in Seonghwa’s stomach. Again with a mention of secrets. Secrets and Hongjoong’s parents who were notoriously involved with all manner of sketchy dealings, the defeated tone in his writing that echoed the person he’d become before his first time dropping off the face of the earth. A shiver runs through Seonghwa’s whole body as he pieces those fragments together and considers what they might mean. He feels cold, then like his clothes are too hot and too tight.

When Yunho had first called him about what was going on, of course Seonghwa had considered the possibility that his former best friend was dead. He’d run through a mental bullet list of killed, kidnapped, and a plethora of other ways Hongjoong’s life may have taken such a drastic turn. But touching on theoreticals and seeing actual evidence of a very dangerous truth were two very different situations.

Seonghwa thinks he might be sick if he remains rooted in this spot any longer. He tries to relax his death-grip on the journal as he joins Yunho by the collection of frames.

“Anything interesting?” Yunho asks without missing a beat. He doesn’t even flinch when Seonghwa appears in his peripheral without warning.

“There’s definitely _something_ ,” Seonghwa admits. “I don’t know what, but he kept it from me then and he’s keeping it from me now, however unintentionally. Hopefully he’ll spell it out in here soon.”

He follows Yunho’s gaze to the wall, about to ask what he’s staring so intently at, but recognition steals the words from his lips. Seonghwa has seen this painting.

Yunho perks up when he glances at Seonghwa’s expression. “Do you know anything about this one? It’s my favorite of the few he has up here.”

Seonghwa frowns, bothered at the lack of a clear memory. “I’ve seen it once before, right after Hongjoong finished painting. I asked about it back then, too, but he never elaborated like with his other pieces. I assumed he wasn’t happy with it.”

“I don’t see how.”

Seonghwa couldn’t agree more. The warm spirals of reds and purples make an unknown feeling swell in his chest the longer he stares. If it’s hung on the prime real estate of his bedroom wall, Hongjoong can’t have hated it that much, can he? Yet another mystery, Seonghwa supposes.

Staring at the painting with even less clues than the journal so far must be what does it for Seonghwa. He feels his curiosity and desire to see this to the end once again rise up to outweigh his growing sense of dread, enough for him to take a seat on Hongjoong’s bed and crack the book back open.

No matter what this leads to, what’s done is done. Not finding the answer won’t change whatever that answer may be. Seonghwa needs the truth.

  
  


_2014.06.15_

_We’re back at the cabin again for a second summer. Yesterday we went fishing, and I actually caught something. Then we went hiking and had a picnic (without ants this time). We roasted marshmallows by the firepit and spent most of today inside the cabin._

_There’s a tree now near the river with both of our initials carved into the trunk. Seonghwa wanted to pick a young tree so the letters will grow with it. No matter what happens, a part of both of us will always be here._

  
  


That’s the end of the entry. No elaboration, no personal touch, nothing.

“Something’s wrong,” Seonghwa says aloud. “This doesn’t sound like him at all. It’s so...detached. Off. Like how he was acting before…”

Before everything. Even years later, it’s still hard to revisit that point in time.

“Before he dropped out,” Yunho clarifies.

“Even earlier than that. You didn’t know Hongjoong before our second year, but he never used to be that person. Then out of the blue he started to pull away.”

The pain of those memories should have dulled as time passed, but they sting just as sharply. At first, Seonghwa had brushed off Hongjoong’s shift in attitude as stress from classes piling up, from the ever-looming uncertainty of the future causing him to withdraw into himself so frequently. By the time Seonghwa realized it wasn’t just stress, Hongjoong had already built a wall between them. How had he not seen it in time? Why hadn’t he stopped it before it went too far?

“Eventually, I confronted him,” Seonghwa continues. “I had to. It hurts to have the person you’re closest to suddenly become so distant. But Hongjoong kept avoiding my questions and me entirely. Then he left.”

He wrapped up his final exams early without giving any sort of warning. Seonghwa had returned from a day of studying at the library to silence and cried alone in the half-empty apartment. Hongjoong never came back.

“I’m sorry, Seonghwa,” Yunho says sincerely. Then, with the air of someone who doesn’t want to pry but needs to anyway, “Did you find out what happened to him?”

“There were plenty of rumors, which I’m sure you’ve heard, too. Some said he changed schools. Some said he dropped out of college altogether. I still don’t know the truth.”

But maybe he will soon. Maybe Seonghwa will find some closure, will find out how this story ends. And suddenly the mention of endings and Hongjoong’s drastic shift in demeanor has a singular, awful thought gripping Seonghwa’s chest in a too-tight hold.

“Yunho…” Seonghwa asks quietly. “Tell me honestly: do you think Hongjoong might have taken his own life?”

The other man doesn’t meet his eyes for a long moment, swallowing uncomfortably while he sorts out his words. “There was no goodbye note or signs of it happening here,” Yunho says slowly. “And no body was found, so there’s nothing yet to tell us that’s what happened. But…”

“But there’s no proof that it wasn’t.”

The barely-there nod Yunho gives him makes Seonghwa’s stomach drop. Logically, that was the conclusion he expected, but to have it confirmed by someone he trusts...Seonghwa doesn’t know what to think. Is not finding an answer, he wonders, better or worse than finding out it’s something this awful?

“I think we should take a break for today,” Yunho suggests. His eyes are trained carefully on Seonghwa’s stricken expression. “We had a late start, and we should both get back home before the sun goes down. Sound good?”

Seonghwa is aware this has nothing to do with timing and everything to do with him clearly being at his emotional limit. And truthfully? He can’t disagree. His mind feels like it’s running fast enough to fly off the track, concocting scenario after scenario each worse than the previous. “Okay,” he concedes, and Yunho visibly relaxes.

“I’ll meet you here tomorrow morning, alright? Unless you need to take a day off, which I’d understand.”

Seonghwa turns to slide the journal back into its resting place. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he’ll put aside his reservations for Hongjoong’s sake and find the truth, whether or not he likes what he finds.

✉

Long before he gets home, Seonghwa already knows he’s not in store for a restful night’s sleep. He still goes through the motions of his nighttime routine with a clinical precision that draws some of his focus from the past to the present: clean up, shower, change, skincare, turn back the sheets. Then he slips his hand inside the pocket of the jacket folded on his nightstand and takes out a crumpled scrap of paper he’d lifted from the crime scene when Yunho’s back was turned.

The name of the smoothie place printed at the top of the receipt is one he recognizes, but he hadn’t had time to check if this is really what he thought it was, if it was truly part of a memory he still sheltered too close to his heart…

And sure enough, just below the total of nine dollars and forty-seven cents, it’s written in a scribble: _2013.11.07: smoothies w/ Seonghwa. His treat for my 18th!_ And Seonghwa’s chest aches.

Because before this missing person’s case, before Hongjoong had disappeared, before they’d started ending all of their conversations in yelling matches, Seonghwa had taken Hongjoong out for smoothies on his birthday. He’d stared a little too long at the whipped cream he dolloped on a pouting Hongjoong’s nose, laughed a little too fondly at the way the other man’s eyes twinkled when he described his next paper-mache endeavor, and realized with the suddenness of a bucket of ice water being dumped over his head that his feelings for Kim Hongjoong had evolved past the label of best friend.

The revelation had surprised him less than he expected. It hadn’t been entirely unwelcome, either. Just a new way of looking at the numerous threads that connected them. Except it wasn’t long after the smoothies that those threads started being systematically severed by Hongjoong’s own hand. Seonghwa had no choice but to bury his feelings if only his heart would break a little less each time the distance grew. Losing someone he cared for was horrible. Losing someone more than that would be too much for him to bear.

How could this have happened, Seonghwa wonders? His fingers are white where he grips the receipt. How could Hongjoong go from that wide smile over smoothies to the quiet, withdrawn stranger who’d left Seonghwa in a half-empty apartment? Was he being threatened? Did something happen?

A sudden realization hits Seonghwa, making guilt spiral outward in his chest. He’d been so focused on being the person who’d most been able to read Hongjoong that he’d overlooked it being a two-way street.

What if Hongjoong had _known_? What if he’d picked up on Seonghwa’s feelings, unspoken as they were, and pushed him away to spare them both the falling out a confession would have brought? What if Hongjoong leaving was no one else’s fault but Seonghwa’s?

Seonghwa slides the receipt back into his jacket pocket, tugs the string of his lamp, and stares at the ceiling until sleep eventually whisks him away.

✉

Seonghwa meets Yunho the next morning with dark circles under his eyes and a guilty conscience he can’t shake.

“Did you sleep?” Yunho asks him.

“Barely.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It is what it is.”

Yunho still pulls him into a brief half-hug before they step into the apartment. The gesture is appreciated, even if Seonghwa’s not sure it’s deserved.

Back in Hongjoong’s room, Seonghwa takes a single steadying breath and goes straight for the journal. He picks up where he left off and skims a number of entries, all of which are similar to the last one he read yesterday: short, undetailed, ranging between somber and lacking any emotion entirely.

At some point, they seem only to serve as a short list of what art projects Hongjoong worked on each day. Then, abruptly, they stop. No explanation is given in the journal’s remaining empty pages.

“This doesn’t add up,” Seonghwa insists. “Hongjoong always said he needed to write down his thoughts, or they took up too much space in his own head. But these aren’t his thoughts. They’re records at best.”

“So you think there’s a different journal where he actually wrote his thoughts down?”

“That, or something else we’re not seeing.”

And what would that something else be? Hongjoong’s working spaces may look like a mess to anyone not him, but he was always a believer in efficiency. If there truly was another journal he was writing in, it would have been kept right next to wherever he wrote.

“There’s only one surface cleaned off enough for him to do any writing. I already checked the shelves closest to his desk, and no notebooks are there. If being in the immediate vicinity isn’t the answer, that should only leave one option.”

“Inside the desk itself.”

“Hopefully.”

Seonghwa pulls out the chair to sit in it himself. He runs his hands over the top of the desk, then along the wooden paneling on the sides. If for any reason there’s an easily accessible compartment built into the body, it would have to be somewhere around…

_Click._ “Here.”

A drawer slides out from one section of the paneling, revealing a basket that Seonghwa places on the previously empty tabletop. He wills his hands not to shake as he sets it down. This has to be the missing link in their story, the clue they need to crack the case wide open.

“Yunho━”

“I’m here; don’t worry. Kind of hard not to see you going all James Bond over here.”

Yunho picks up one of the papers in the basket and looks it over. A furrow grows between his brows before he stops reading whatever’s written to look curiously at Seonghwa instead. “Seonghwa, these aren’t journal pages,” he says. “These are letters. They’re all made out to you.”

Seonghwa’s throat immediately goes dry. The air feels like it’s been sucked from his lungs. “Me?”

“See for yourself. It seems like you should be the one doing the reading.”

Now Seonghwa’s hands really do start to shake. He takes the letter from Yunho and presses his fingers against the desk while he reads to try and curb the worst of the trembling. He can do this. Even if it’s a list of every reason Hongjoong grew to hate him, Seonghwa can do this.

  
  


_Dear Seonghwa,_

_We’re currently 2 weeks in to living together as roommates, and I’m not sure if I’ve done the right thing. Yes, I appreciate you being here, but I think I’ve only been thinking of myself. I know the best thing for you ━ the safest thing for you ━ isn’t to be around me. Probably the opposite, in fact. I’m sorry for knowing that and still agreeing to come with you. _

_And as sorry as I am for what I haven’t told you, I’m more sorry this is how I’ve repaid you for being my friend._

_-Hongjoong_

  
  


A strange sense of vertigo sweeps over Seonghwa. His name is at the top of the letter, and yet he knows he was never meant to read it. He can _feel_ this was never intended for any eyes other than Hongjoong’s own.

If the journal was everything that Seonghwa thought he knew about Hongjoong, then these letters are everything he didn’t see. He doesn’t know if he wants to see. But for the sake of everyone involved, he picks the next letter up off the top of the stack.

  
  


_Dear Seonghwa,_

_You don’t know it yet, but this trip is a goodbye._

_I’m selfish for going in the first place, probably, but I can’t help it. We have too many good memories here. I wanted to relive those again without them being so complicated like everything is now. I don’t know how far in the future our final goodbye will be, but it’s coming._

_I know your parents have always hated me because of who I am, even if they don’t know the half of it. I could deal with not being “good enough” to be your friend. I did for years. But now I know for sure how much I’ll drag you down, how much I’ll hurt you if this goes on any longer. That I can’t deal with._

_I’m so stupid. You asked me about the painting and I couldn’t even give you a real answer. It’s an apology. It’s everything I can’t say. You deserve better._

_-Hongjoong_

  
  


Seonghwa is going to throw up. His head feels like it’s spinning somewhere up in the clouds, watching this happen to someone else miles away. If he doesn’t pick up another letter in the next few seconds, he won’t be able to.

  
  


_Dear Seonghwa,_

_Remember how I talked about a final goodbye? This is it. I’m sure you’ve seen something like this coming for a while now with the way I’ve treated you. I’m truly, truly sorry._

_It hurts to be around you anymore while we do nothing but argue. It would hurt worse to see you grow to hate me. I hope someday you can find it in your heart to forgive me._

_At first, the secret wasn’t a big deal, you know. I didn’t think much about it at all. But now it’s become this huge, overwhelming thing that I can’t deal with anymore. I can’t go on feeling like I’m lying to you by keeping you in the dark._

_You’ll never know this, but I’m changing universities to finish off my degree. No one but me knows where I’m going. Maybe it will be a fresh start. After that, I’ll get an apartment somewhere near my aunt’s place and hope no one I knew in college or my parents come looking for me. Considering how I cut all of my friends off, you included, I highly doubt it._

_When you come back, I’ll be gone. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. If I see you, I don’t think I’ll be able to go through with this._

_-Hongjoong_

  
  


Seonghwa’s heart is beating too fast for his chest. Emotion prickles behind his eyes and threatens to overflow. His hands have stopped trembling, but more out of overwhelming shock than restored calm. This is too much. He doesn’t want to read any more of these guilty apologies.

“There’s one more left,” Yunho murmurs. “Do you think you can…?”

“Okay. One more.”

Seonghwa inhales. Exhales. Picks up the letter.

  
  


_Dear Seonghwa,_

_It’s been a while. Funny how so much time can pass, circumstances can be so different, and yet certain things never change._

_I thought starting over would relieve me of my burdens. I thought I would be free of the guilt and the lying. But it’s hard to forget the bad memories when there are so many_ good _ones. How am I supposed to forget the first person who made me feel like I was worth something, like my hopes and dreams mattered? How am I supposed to let go of all the happiness our friendship brought me?_

_Truthfully, I don’t know what I’m going to do next. But for now, I’m going back to the place it all began. I need to clear my head. I’m going to cut every tie I have and erase the person I used to be. Because it seems like the only way I can forget you is by not being Kim Hongjoong. I don’t think I told you enough how much you mean to me._

  
  


Seonghwa’s eyes water so abruptly that he can hardly continue reading.

  
  


_Well, now is as good a time as any. Here’s the one place I’ll admit my big secret, the thing I’ve been keeping hidden for years to spare you from the consequences. Even if I can never say it out loud, maybe writing it out on paper will finally put it to rest._

_So here it goes, Seonghwa, now that I know we’re beyond making you hate me:_

  
  


There are only a few words written carefully across the bottom of the page. Seonghwa reads them once, then twice more. He sits frozen in the chair, final letter clutched in his hands like a lifeline.

Abruptly, he crumples the paper in his hands and rises to his feet, the chair sliding back with a horrible screech.

“Seonghwa, what━?”

“I need to go. Don’t wait up for me.”

Seonghwa doesn’t wait for the other man to protest. He’s out the door in a flash, proper goodbye forgotten but knowing exactly where he’s going.

✉

Yunho stares at the open door for a long moment after Seonghwa leaves. His instincts itch to go after him, but something tells Yunho that Seonghwa could use some space. He’ll call later to make sure all is well. As to whether or not Seonghwa found anything that will help the investigation…

Much of the letter is destroyed or illegible. Seonghwa’s tight grip and last burst of emotion had made sure of it. Yunho can’t say he appreciates the blatant tampering with evidence, but he can at least understand it wasn’t coming from a place of malicious intent.

There is a part of it, however, that’s still intact. Yunho can make out a handful of legible words at the bottom of the page:

_I love you._

_Yours,_

_Kim Hongjoong_

✉

The cabin looks like something out of a dream. Seonghwa almost wasn’t sure that he’d find it at the end of the curving, narrow road, but it still stands just as it did all those summers ago.

A faint glow from inside the frosted glass signals that someone is home. More sure than he’s been of anything in his twenty-five years of life, Seonghwa lifts his hand and knocks twice on the front door. He won’t let this chance slip by. Not again.

“Hello?” a voice asks from where the door has begun to swing open. “Can I help…?”

The question trails off into stunned silence. It feels as though all of Seonghwa’s systems have forgotten how to function properly, oxygen ceasing to flow through his extremities in time with his heart missing its next few beats.

“Hongjoong.”

“...Seonghwa?”

Seonghwa can’t look at him long enough. He drinks in every inch of the freshly bleached locks above Hongjoong’s wide eyes, the faint scar near his top lip that had never really disappeared, the cranberry sweater hanging loose on his frame. There are subtle differences, sure, but it’s him. It’s _Hongjoong_.

“What are you doing here?” Hongjoong asks, looking like he’s seen a ghost. Seonghwa wonders if he seems the same way.

“You disappeared,” Seonghwa tells him. “I was helping Yunho find where you went, if you were still...I didn’t know whether or not to expect the worst.”

Pain blooms openly on Hongjoong’s face. “I’m sorry. No one was meant to find me. The last person I expected to get involved was you. I know we didn’t exactly...part on good terms. No one would blame you for not wanting anything to do with me again.”

Suddenly, Hongjoong’s expression turns defensive. “Seonghwa,” he demands, “how did you know to find me here?”

Seonghwa could lie. Though it wouldn’t be the most convincing thing, the cabin had been as much a part of Seonghwa’s memories as it had Hongjoong’s. Passing it off as a lucky guess wouldn’t be impossible. But Seonghwa is fed up with lies and secrets and all the pain they carry along with them in the fine print.

“I read the letters.”

Hongjoong’s face goes nearly as pale as his hair. “You…”

His hand moves at his side, clearly about to slam the door back shut in more ways than one. Even after Seonghwa’s hurried “Wait!”, the journey is halfway completed. Hongjoong’s hand is on the doorknob, his eyes are stormy, and this miraculous reunion is about to be over before it truly starts.

Seonghwa’s first instinct is to justify why he was looking in the first place. He listens to his heart instead. “I loved you, too,” he says quietly, on the doorstep of the man who’d gotten him through the most difficult times of his life and then created some new ones.

The door stops where it had been closing. The expression on Hongjoong’s face is so raw that it’s painful to look at for too long. In the silence that follows, Seonghwa doesn’t think he’s imagining the shared memories playing out between them, weaving a tale of trust and understanding that fear had torn apart at the seams.

How different might things have been, if either of them had overcome that fear? Knowing both sides of the story now, knowing they’d had each other’s best interests at heart even while they worked against themselves, where did they go from here?

Hongjoong takes his hand off the doorknob. There’s a small, hopeful smile gracing his face, and only now does Seonghwa see the tears the other man is blinking to keep at bay. He feels the same emotion gather in the corners of his own eyes.

Whatever Hongjoong was searching for, he must find it. He steps back from the doorway to reveal glimpses of a crackling fireplace in the same cabin it feels like a part of them somehow never left.

“Would you like to come inside?”


End file.
